


Collateral Damage

by edgeofthegalaxy



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Crying is healthy, Dissociation, F/M, Gen, Honestly I Just Needed An Excuse To Make Nat Cry, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, This can be read as either couple or friendship mostly, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, tony takes care of a dissociated natasha, usually, whichever you choose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23653588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgeofthegalaxy/pseuds/edgeofthegalaxy
Summary: It's up to Tony to take care of a broken and bloody Natasha after she returns from a solo mission.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 212





	Collateral Damage

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all! 
> 
> This was inspired by the scene in Avengers after the Hulk chases Nat, and she's sitting there shaking, and then again when we see her spaced out/disassociated after Wanda in Ultron with Clint helping her. I feel like it would make sense for Nat to have a habit of disassociating, especially with the way she was raised, so I wanted to explore that a tiny bit more.
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes, I wrote this in two hours while squished into a backseat with my older sister and her boyfriend on a car trip. I think I'm getting better at English tenses, but there still might one or two ones I missed in there! 
> 
> Russian:  
> Nyet = No  
> Ты в порядке = You are okay  
> (at least, according to Google Translate.) 
> 
> Anyways, Enjoy!

It is the robotic voice that finally breaks him out of his concentration. A quick glance at the clock tells him it’s twenty three minutes past 3AM, two hours later than the time he had promised Pepper he would be in bed by. She had been nervous to leave him- she always was when he was working on a new idea. But business had called, in the form of new ideas developing out of Oslo. And Pepper, being Pepper, couldn’t turn it down.

“What’s up, Fri?”

“I have been instructed to not alert you, however, per your Babysitter Protocol, I have deemed it necessary. Agent Romanoff has just returned from her solo mission and seems to be in need of assistance.”

Tony frowns for a second, wondering why Friday had alerted him and not someone else in the tower, preferably Barton, who was the Black Widow Expert, before realizing there _wasn’t_ anyone else. Barton was at his home, assisting Laura with the kids who had managed to catch the flu. Sam and Steve had fucked off to somewhere in Brooklyn, and Rhodey had taken a vacation to visit old friends down in Florida. Natasha had been on a solo mission for the last several days, and he hadn’t expected her back so soon. She wasn’t due back for another week at the soonest.

Reluctantly, he places the tools off to the side. He hadn’t missed the “Instructed not to alert” part from Friday, and briefly wonders if he should even go up there at all. Natasha was Natasha, and forcing unwanted company on her was never a good idea. Usually, when Natasha returned from missions, she preferred to be left alone to de-stress by herself. When she did need help with something, Clint would whisk her off to the privacy of their shared floor. But if Friday deemed it important enough to disobey Natasha’s direct order to not inform him, he felt he should at least check it out. The assassin was notorious for hiding injuries and refusing being taken to medical. Pushing his chair back from the desk, he moves into the elevator. He doesn’t bother pushing a button, Friday immediately beginning his descent to the common floor, where Natasha apparently was.

The elevator stops and the door opens. Tony steps out.

He does a double take.

Admittedly, he hadn’t asked Friday exactly what was wrong. But some warning would have been nice.

Natasha was sat on the couch, staring straight ahead, unmoving. Her red ringlet curls were clumped together with … something dried dark. Something he assumed was the same as dark red substance he could see splattered on her skin and streaked down her jumpsuit. The same jumpsuit that currently had a large rip down the back.

“Nat?” He calls hesitantly, taking a few steps forward towards the couch where she had planted herself and moves to the side, allowing him to see the front of her. The skin on her face was disrupted by a purple and blue bruise spanning from just under her eye to her jawline. Her lip was busted in two different places, with a cut along her forehead. She doesn’t answer him, doesn’t even shift her eyes to look at him. Just continues staring wide eyed ahead. Her suit was ripped in even more places in front- the shoulder, the chest, a chunk missing from her waist where more blood had spilled from. Her breath was coming in short, shallow breathes. Her body tense, hands clasped tightly around a small pocket knife.

“Natasha. Hey. Can you hear me?”

She doesn’t respond verbally, but her breath does catch for half a second. “Alright. Well.” Tony moves closer, though staying careful to not intrude into her space too much. He sinks to her level in front of her on his knees. “How about… we set this down, yeah?” He mutters quietly and gently covers her hands with his. One by one, without taking his eyes off her face, he works the knife from her fingers. She gives it up easier than he expected, and he doesn’t know whether to be relived at that or even more concerned. He tosses the knife onto the ottoman behind them, out of her reach.

Tony sits back on his heels, surveying her and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do next. He really wasn’t cut out for this whole care taking thing. Sure, he cared about his team. But he had never had to deal with one of them bloody and dissociated. He tries to rack his head for what he would want someone else to do for him if he were in this situation, but quickly discards that idea after the only solution he comes up with is bring him a drink.

“Right, then. First things first, I guess. Why don’t we get you cleaned and patched up?” Tony stands, purposefully slowing his movements as to not startle his teammate. He carefully reaches out and takes her arm, pulling gently. She goes willingly, still slack but not resisting, allowing him to maneuver her arm over his shoulders. They barely make it two steps before her knees buckle and almost send them both tumbling to the floor.

“Oh, shit, shit! Okay, kiddo, no walking. That’s fine.” He keeps her right arm around his neck, but bends down and swoops an arm under her knees, while the other stays on her back to stabilize her as he picks her up. She’s lighter than he expected, and he makes a mental note to keep a better eye on her food intake.

Tony guides them down the hall and into the master bathroom, Friday turning on the lights for them as they go. Carefully, Tony deposits Nat on the side of the bathtub, not letting go until he’s sure she won’t sway and fall off. Once she seems stable enough, he turns to the cabinet and pulls out a small washcloth.

He looks at Natasha. Back down at the 5x5 washcloth. Back to Natasha.

He huffs out a breath and throws the washcloth onto the counter. There is no way he would be able to properly clean her up with only that. The amount of blood covering her was a bit absurd, not to mention the hair situation.

“Okay. I’m gunna take off your boots.” Tony drops to his knees again, lifting one of her feet into his hands and sliding her boot off. He moves to her other foot, apologizing when she flinches as his hands brush over her ankle. He inspects it more once both boots are off, noticing the unusual way it was bent. If not broken, it was severely sprained. Her ankle had always been a bit off since it had been broken during the helicarrier attack, so he isn’t surprised to find it in such bad shape.

Tony moves up, hand hovering over the zipper on her chest. “Hey, Natasha? I’m gunna take this off now, but only if that’s cool with you. Is that okay?” He knows the chances of her actually answering him were low, but he wanted to make sure he was still giving her a chance to say no- just in case. She doesn’t, though, so Tony continues, taking the zipper and pulling it down, exposing her black camisole and sports bra she wore underneath. One at a time, he works both arms out of the long leather sleeves, paying extra attention to not bother the new puncture wounds he discovers on her forearm. He pushes the suit down to her waist before wrapping an arm around her torso, lifting her a few inches to allow him to push it over and past her hips. She doesn’t protest, or even make any sign of acknowledging what was happening, but Tony reminds her once again that he will stop if she told him too. Once he has gotten her down to her cami and boyshorts, he leans back on his heels.

“Fri? What temp does she usually prefer?”

“Preferred temperature is usually as hot as the faucet will allow, Boss.”

Tony blanches. “Oh. Okay, um, wow. Maybe not quite that hot just right now.” He turns the faucet handle well past the cold, but not all the way- Burning hot water couldn’t feel the best in fresh cuts- and switches on the shower head, pulling it down from it’s hook.

He knows she won’t be able to stand for a shower, but a bath didn’t sound like the best idea when she was covered in so much blood. Using one hand around her back and under her armpit, the other back beneath her knees to transfer her from the ledge and into the tub. Once she was settled on the ground, he picks up the shower head, switches the water pressure to a gentler spray and runs it over her bloody leg first, to check her reaction to the water.

She doesn’t respond to the water, so he continues. He starts with her arm, holding it in his hand as he sprays it down. Most of the blood washes away with the water, but he still grabs the loofa from the edge of the tub and softly scrubs, loosening the grime and dried blood from her skin. He switches to her other arm, making sure to be careful of the puncture wounds. He moves up to her chest, allowing the warm soapy water to flow over the cut under her collarbone.

“I’m gunna do your hair now, okay?” As expected, she doesn’t answer.

He tips her head back, carefully angling the water spray as to not get her face wet and soaks her hair. He leaves the loofa and shower head at the base of the tub, away from them. In exchange, he picks up the bottle of shampoo closet to him, squirting a dollop into his palm. He rubs his hands together for a second, then works the shampoo through her hair, fingers carefully carding through the curls and working out the clumped blood.

He doesn’t mean for it to happen. The hand print shaped bruise on her neck had been hidden by her hair- He doesn’t notice it until it’s too late, and one of his hands brushes against it.

Within a second, a hand is grasped around his wrist and twisting it back, while her other hand shoots towards his throat. He somehow manages to block her in her unfocused and dazed state. She may be a master spy, but Tony was an observer, and he knows her favorite go- to moves. He easily frees his wrist and prevents her next attack, tugging his arm away and capturing both her wrists in his hands. She tries unsuccessfully to yank them back, but he holds tighter.

“Nat! Natasha! Hey! It’s Tony. It’s just me. You know me. You’re safe.”

She doesn’t hear him, just continues weakly fighting. Her legs kick out, trying and failing to catch him. She arches her back, attempting to squirm away from his hold. He calls out to her again, louder this time. She flinches away, jerking backwards. Before Tony can stop it, the back of her head collides against the back wall of the tub. He curses loudly as her struggles increase at the newfound pain. 

“No!” She screams. “Nyet!”

She tries to pull away from his hands again. Her breathing sounds like she’s about to hyperventilate, and Tony worries about her hurting herself a second time.

He climbs over the edge of tub, clothes and all, shoving in behind her on his knees. He wraps one arm around her chest and the tops of her arms, and uses it to pin her to his chest. In retaliation, Natasha pulls her head forward and slams it back into his body. Tony brings his free hand up to her forehead to hold her head still against his shoulder.

“’Tasha. You’re okay. You hear me? Ты в порядке.” She freezes at her native language, eyes narrowing as the words process through her muddled mind. Seeing the slight progress, Tony keeps repeating the phrases, chanting them desperately into her ear.

Her body is still strung tightly, but she stops struggling. Several moments later, he feels the tension slowly drain out of her, and she relaxes, allowing Tony to take all her weight as he holds her.

“You back with me?”

She nods, a quiet yes falling from her lips, so quiet Tony almost misses it.

“C’mon. Let’s let you out, then. I need to patch you up.”

Tony stands first, then leans down to grip the tops of Natasha’s shoulders, making sure she doesn’t slip on the wet floor as she stands and climbs out of the tub.

Tony points to the counter. “Sit.”

Natasha lifts herself onto the counter, sitting with her legs dangling off the front. She wraps her arms around her body, shrinking into herself.

Tony methodically places the bottles and tubes next to her onto the counter, ignoring the face she makes at the medical supplies. She isn’t happy about it, but she isn’t resisting, which is better than normal.

He pulls out a wad of fuzzy cotton balls and soaks them with the alcohol. Taking her right arm, he gingerly holds the cotton to the puncture. She winces but doesn’t try to move away.

Tony looks up at her. “What happened out there, Nat?”

She presses her lips into a tight line, debating if she was going to say anything at all. She gives him a halfhearted one shoulder shrug as she focuses her gaze on the wall above Tony’s head, refusing to look at him.

“You know no one is going to be mad, right? I know that’s not how it was where you were trained at, but it’s not like that here. It’s okay to mess up or make mistakes. No one here expects you to be perfect 24/7. You can tell me what happened.”

“Fuck off, Tony.” She tries taking her arm back. Tony tightens his grip. 

Her lips twitch, and she quickly tries to cover by sucking it in to bite at it with her teeth. She moves her eyes from the wall to looking up at the ceiling now as a small amount of moisture begins gathering in the corners of them. He knew that trick all too well- looking up at the ceiling to prevent tears from falling. It was a favorite of his as a child. And Tony also knew Natasha- the woman he was pretty sure hadn’t cried since she was an toddler. Tony throws out the used cotton ball and picks up several more, drenching them again.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you this beaten up since… well, ever, really. What’s up with your side? Did someone stab you? I know you didn’t do that to yourself. Your ankle is real messed up too, what’s with that? And I gotta say, those wounds on your arm look suspiciously like a dog bite.”

“Stop.”

“Not to mention you’re covered in other cuts. Normally I wouldn’t be too concerned, but I know your suit is extremely hard to cut. Meaning, some _one_ did those to you on purpose-”

“Tony.”

“-And don’t think I didn’t notice those bruises in the shapes of hand prints.”

“Goddammit Tony, I told you to fuck off!”

“Tell me what happened, Nat. You don’t have to hide anymore.”

That broke the dam. Natasha drops her head, ripping her arm away from him to bring her hands up to hide her face in. She takes a shuddering breath, but it catches in her throat in a wet hiccup. She curls in on herself away from him, bringing her knees up to her chest to drop her head onto.

Tony gives her a moment to herself, not wanting to crowd her. He grabs a bandage and takes his time to tightly wrap it around her hurt ankle, trying to provide some semblance of support until he could convince her to go to medical later. Finishing her ankle, he sets the tape back onto the counter. Her wet hair had fallen over her shoulders to help hide her face, but he didn’t need to see the tear tracks to know they were there.

He moves over to the side of the counter and when she doesn’t protest, wraps an arm around her to pull her shaking body into his chest. With his other hand, he runs his fingers through her hair gently. He doesn’t shush her.

“We. We were compromised. I got to the base but… I got there and they were waiting. For me.” She stutters out between gasping breaths. She raises her arm with the bite. “With reinforcements.” She snorts. “They uh. They wanted information. But I didn’t give it to them!” Her voice raises several octaves, a new wave of panic entering as she sits up straighter. “I didn’t, Tony, I didn’t tell them anything. I-“

“Whoa, hey, shh. It’s okay. I believe you. I know you wouldn’t.”

With his reassurances, she deflates again, more tears leaking down her cheeks. It draws his attention to the bags under her eyes, how pale her skin is.

“Tasha… How long did they have you for?”

“I don’t know.” She mumbles.

Tony huffs. “Yes, you do.”

“Fifty one hours.”

“Fuckin’ hell. And how long has it been since you ate or slept?”

“Sixty seven.”

Tony mumbles a Jesus Christ under his breath, and makes another mental note to cuss out Fury tomorrow. He instructs Friday to turn on the oven.

“Alright. What do you say we get some food into you and then head to bed, yeah?”

The sides of Natasha’s lips quirk up into somewhat of a tiny smile. “Yeah. Yeah, some food sounds great.”

She didn’t need to outright say it. Tony could hear the unspoken _thank you_ that lingered behind her words.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Leave a kudos and review if you did, they really help me out! 
> 
> You can also follow my marvel tumblr @ Natasha-romanoff-deserved-better.tumblr.com. Feel free to come say hi or request a prompt whenever! :)


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